


Out of Sight

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Community: spn-masquerade, Episode Related, Episode S11eo5, Light Bondage, Location Spoilers, M/M, PWP, bottom!Dean, no plot spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From SPN Masquerade, Spring 2016: Sam really gets off on being in Lizzie Borden’s house. Dean on the other hand is truly horrified by the decor, to the point that he just can’t. Sam has a solution. Follows 11x05, “Thin Lizzie.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Sight

Sam slams his brother bodily into the door. Half hard, more or less nonstop since they hit Fall River. He crushes Dean’s mouth, picks at his belt.

“Want my mouth on you?” Sam nips Dean’s bottom lip and hits his knees, works his brother’s jeans down, gets a hand around him.

“Sammy, stop.” Dean’s head thumps the door and his dick wilts in Sam’s grip. “I can’t do it, dude. Not here.”

Sam smiles. “I get it.” Pats Dean’s thigh and tugs his jeans up. “Those two kids just died here, probab—”

“No,” Dean interrupts. “That’s not…” His eyes dart. “It’s this…” Shudders.

“Décor?” Sam doesn’t quite stifle his snicker.

“Yes. And thank you, Martha Stewart. That really helps with the whole, granny sex vibe.”

Sam drops his head to Dean’s shoulder, mostly to hide the eye roll. You wouldn’t think a guy who gives it up for his brother would have so many hangups. Sam draws him closer, mumbles, “You really gonna mistake _this_ for a granny?” Punches his hips.

Dean makes this throaty sound and Sam eats it out of his mouth. Dean palms and gropes. Sam goes for his fly, sucks a money spot under his ear…

Nothing.

Sam strokes and massages. Dean slumps. “’M sorry, man, I got nothin. Every time I open my eyes I—”

“Get on the bed.” Straightforward solution to this problem. Sam snags his Fed tie and Dean’s hands come up.

“Whoa-whoa-whoa. You gonna _9½ Weeks_ me here?”

Sam shoots Dean a look. “Just relax.” Hooks a belt loop and drags him in. “Trust me. Once I’ve got you naked and spread out you’ll forget all about the doilies.”

Dean’s breath catches. He’s… annoyingly vanilla for a self-proclaimed sex-god. Sam draws the fabric across his eyes. Dean stiffens.

“Relax, remember?”

Sam feels tension bleed when he kisses Dean’s eyes through the blindfold. He turns them. Dean’s calves bump the bedrail and he sits. Sam trails hands down Dean’s body, kneels between his brother’s feet. Rubbing, up his shins and down his calves.

“You okay?”

“’M good.” Kind of a grunt.

Sam ditches Dean’s boots. Pushes his flannel off, strips his t-shirt. Smiles when Dean touches the blindfold, settles it back in place.

Sam stares.

Because, Dean’s chest heaves and his muscles shift as he fights to relax. Gold and blue (was around Sam’s neck yesterday) across his eyes, lip in his teeth. He twists the bedspread. And, at Sam’s eye level, barely bulged black cotton, pushing at Dean’s open zipper.

Sam guides Dean’s shoulders back, head on the pillows. “Fuck, _me_ I wanna…”

“Sam?”

 _In for a penny…_ “I wanna tie your hands.”

“Dude…”

“Loose! You’d be out in two seconds.”

“Aw, man.”

“Please?” He wouldn’t beg, but Dean always loses his mind when he lets Sam—

“Dammitall,” under Dean’s breath. “Okay.”

Sam races to come up with ties. Longer he leaves Dean alone and sense-deprived, the likelier this whole thing goes sideways. Next to his brother, loops and turns and rustling cloth and Dean tugs.

“What the fuck, man, you said loose.”

“It’s a highwayman.” He puts the release in Dean’s hand. “Try it.” Dean pulls and the knot unravels from the headboard. “Okay?”

Dean’s bottom lip chewed half to bloody, “Okay.”

Sam reattaches Dean’s left wrist and secures his right. He swallows hard and kisses his brother’s forearm, blessedly smooth. Before he knows it he’s worried his own mark into the skin. He runs a thumb over the red, raised spot.  
  
“S-Sammy?”  
  
Sam puts a hand on Dean’s chest, slicking already, and Dean exhales. Sam pinches his chin and descends, soft brush of their lips. Dean cranes his neck; Sam teases.  
  
“Keep it up, dick, I’ll kick your ass when I get loose.”  
  
That’s all Sam wanted to hear.

***~*~*~*~***

Dean listens, squirms as Sam’s clothes hit the floor. He tests the knots, secure. Runs thumbs up the release lines. Deep breaths.

Dip between his knees and a wet brand below his navel. Back bends and his dick swells, grazes Sam’s neck. Suction. Lips and teeth and tongue, follow his waistband, hip to hip. Sam licks up his side. Tickles. Whole body jerks when the fucker noses his armpit.

“C’mon, Sammy, Jesus.”

Sharp nips up his other side.

“Ow, goddammit!”

Bed rocks, Sam’s laugh. Firm heat and his mouth on Dean’s ear. Sucking the lobe, tonguing the curves. Kissing all down Dean’s hairline.

Goosebumps. Sam hums and Dean gasps when he grazes a nipple. Groan rumbles out when he mouths the other. Soft lips, hard sucks. Tongue curls and flicks and his teeth tease. Back and forth, erratic. Twists and pinches between the licks.

Dean aches. Cockhead rubs his waistband. Zipper digs at the base. He fights the ties; headboard thumps the wall. Then Sam blows cool air across his raw wet nipples and he damn near levitates. Crashes down as Sam drags off his jeans.

More of Sam’s lazy, tormenting kisses. Ankles, calves, behind his knees. Hot pressure and a cool spit wake. Between his thighs. Sam lifts and spreads and licks him through his boxers.

“Sammy…”

Naked. Belly’s cold where his dick drooled on it. Sam grabs and drags til his arms are stretched and there’s no more slack in the ties. Drapes across him, lets Dean feel his hard-on. “Still okay?”

Dean cranes to kiss him. “’M good.”

Sam gets a hand behind his head and kisses back. Feeds Dean on his tongue. They roll together, cocks bump between them. “God, Dean,” he breathes, and down he goes. Mouths a wet trail all the way from Dean’s lips to his balls.

“Aw, yeah, Sammy, c’mon.” Can’t wait to get his dick in there.

But Sam’s mouth disappears. Lube sounds. Dean’s legs spread a little wider. Hand on his thigh and slick fingers probe his hole while Sam swallows his dick. Ten years ago he’d have shot a wad right there.

Sam’s lips, Sam’s tongue, Dean’s shaft, sparks of teeth. Fingers feel up his insides, stretch his rim. Head thrashes and headboard pounds. Sam tongues his balls, his taint. Gets him right to the edge and back, over and over. By the time Sam lifts his legs and lines up his cock he’s a raw nerve. Feral sounds fall out of them both as Sam sinks in.

Stillness, held breath. Dean expects Sam to bend him in half and fuck him through the floor. Instead he pours forward, hands up Dean’s sides, over his pecs, biceps. Sam pulls the ties and Dean falls free. Wraps around him, swallows Sam’s kisses and groans.

“Not gonna last,” Sam grits out. “So fuckin hot like this, Jesus Christ.”

Dean rocks; Sam moans. Slow rolling rhythm. Sam presses their foreheads together, hair tickles Dean’s face.

“C’mon, Sammy. Fuck me.”

Sam’s hips stutter. He pushes up and gets his hands around Dean’s thighs, thrusts in a circle. Dean’s world shrinks. Sam’s thumbs, bruising behind his knees. Sam’s dick, shoved up in him, knocking grunts out every breath.

Sam drops a leg and jacks him, works him inside and out. Been on edge so long his orgasm startles him, sends him jerking and clawing and _“Jesus, fuck, Sam”_ and now he’s getting it, finally. Sam nails his ass to the bed, punches his load out.

“Dean,” he hears, and Sam floods his guts. He keeps on bucking, clenching, riding his aftershocks and milking Sam’s. Sweaty heap about all that’s left when it’s done.

Sam leaves him blindfolded all through cleaning up, and tucking in. A click and Sam slips off the tie. Room’s pitch black. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Lizzie Borden’s house. “You’re a sick fuck, Sammy, you know that.”

“Said the guy whose favorite blow job spot is next to a burning grave.” Sam roots closer, arm and leg slung over.

“I ain’t complainin.”

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from [Supernatural Masquerade](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/7665.html?thread=2584049#t2584049%0A) Round 4.


End file.
